


Cinniúint

by BenSolosGirl20



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abusive Snoke (Star Wars), Alternate Universe - Mythology, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Experienced Kylo Ren, F/M, Ireland, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Redemption, Mild Smut, Not Beta Read, Past Character Death, Star Wars: The Last Jedi References, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 08:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenSolosGirl20/pseuds/BenSolosGirl20
Summary: There was a flutter of wings, a harsh caw, and a crow landed on the ground before him.It’s her. The Morrigan.He bent his knee out of respect, head bowed.He heard a sunny giggle. “Arise, Caol of the Ren. We’ve already met on the field, we’re not strangers to each other.”Caol’s breath caught, his heart stuttered, he arose slowly.“It is you,” he murmured, awestruck at the vision.His mysterious ally and the Morrígan were one and the same. Except for the change in robes and her hair style, which now flowed loosely down her back, she was the same warrior girl.Caol of the Ren = Kylo Ren/Ben SoloThe Morrígan = Rey
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Kudos: 2
Collections: House Dadam Presents: Reylo Mythology





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Reylo_Mythology_Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Reylo_Mythology_Collection) collection. 



> I took some artistic liberties with the story of the Morrígan so it would work out for my story, but otherwise she is still the same; she is still a shapeshifter, she washes the clothes of those doomed to die in battle, and one of her several incarnations is that of the warrior woman. 
> 
> I utilized www.ireland101.com for translating the characters’ names to Irish. 
> 
> The Tuath Dè is the pantheon of the Ancient Irish Gods and Goddesses. 
> 
> Leia = Liadh  
> Kylo = Caol  
> Snoke = Snúcair  
> Rey = Rè ( the Morrígan )  
> Poe  
> Rose = Róisín  
> Finn = Fionn  
> Han = Ifan  
> Ben = Bearnárd  
> Luke = Lúcás  
> The Resistance = Friotaíocht  
> The First Order = An Chéad Ordú  
> Ireland = Ériu
> 
> Mac = son of  
> Ni = daughter of 
> 
> Cinniúint means Fate in Irish. 
> 
> All names are Modern Irish.

Caol of the Ren collapsed upon his bed; fresh bracken covered with a woolen blanket. Wearily he set aside his signature sword with its scarlet red blade and cross guard and his black helm with its fierce scarlet and silver lines, and taking up his water skin, drank deeply. Having quenched his thirst, he dropped it beside his bed. His sigh broke the quiet of his late lord Snúcair’s tent.

Outside, the sounds of camp life resounded; the chatter of warriors, the tramp of horses, the crackle of camp fires. A stray beam of light from the setting sun stole through a sliver in the tent, piercing the dimness of the interior. But the gloom of Ériu’s fiercest warrior was deeper than the gloomiest winter night.

“Would that she had stayed, not fled after standing with me against Snúcair’s warriors!” His mutter broke the silence of the tent. “What a queen she’d have made! The queen of the An Chéad Ordú and my wife. But she’s gone.”

Caol laid back upon his bed and closed his eyes. His mind wandered back over the day’s happenings.

The waves of warriors swirled around him; a surging variegated sea of coarse tunics and colorful capes, and filled with swords and spears. They fell upon him in waves, only to break and fall, pierced by his infamous scarlet sword with its scarlet cross guard.

Caol, leader of that grim band of dark clad warriors called the Ren, slew his latest foe and stood back, fire in his dark eyes and adrenaline flowing through his veins.  
The cowards were falling back now; not even his mother Liadh Ni Organa’s band of warriors, the Friotaíocht ,were foolish enough to stand against him.

Poe Mac Dameron, the Friotaíocht’s leading warrior and Liadh’s favorite, had boldly led many to their deaths before the warrior queen had called him back; now she was out there leading her band in their battle against the An Chéad Ordú, those merciless black clad warriors. Caol saw her now, a strong figure among them, giving orders and cutting down the enemy.

Here was his opportunity, an opportunity to prove to Snúcair that he could be like his grandsire Darth Vader the Dark, a formidable warrior in his time. He had been harshly reprimanded for showing remorse after slaying his own father Ifan Mac Solo, and Snúcair’s words had burned him.

_“You’re nothing like Vader,” Snúcair had snarled, after backhanding him, “he’d be ashamed to own you as his own flesh and blood. He didn’t hesitate to slay his former brother in arms when the opportunity availed itself, he never showed remorse. You, you came here that night with blood on your sword and tear trails on your face. You’ve failed!”_

_Caol was silent; past back talk had only earned him more blows and angry words. But the moment he left his master’s tent, he departed for the forest and slashed trees, venting his grief and anger against them. He wasn’t enough for anyone; he had disappointed his parents and uncle in refusing to follow in their steps, and he had displeased his master in grieving his father’s death._

_Afterwards, when he was exhausted, Caol gazed at the damage he had wrought. Slashes in the tree trunks. All oozing sap like blood and tears. Like his father that accursed night. Like his eyes when he was alone in his tent. He muttered, “May the Morrigan wash my clothes in the Fords soon! I don’t have the strength to do what I have to do anymore; I killed my father to prove my commitment to Snúcair and killed part of myself. I cannot bear the pain anymore.”_

_The leaves above him rustled, and with a harsh caw, a crow flew away. Caol watched it fly. No doubt, the Morrigan had heard him and would select him to fall in the next battle. He was now fated._

Caol slashed his way through Liadh’s warriors, cutting them down like the summer hay. The warriors of the Friotaíocht had no choice but to fall back. At last they met, face to face, on the battlefield, the warrior queen and her lost son.

There was no one between them now. Caol raised his bloodied blade, poised to strike.  
Liadh stood undaunted, firm, awaiting the fatal blow. Her gray cloak fluttered in the breeze; she remained still, her brown eyes gazing long into her son’s dark eyes.

How had she grown old, Caol wondered. Memories flew swiftly through his mind; memories of the nights when she soothed him through his nightmares; of her softly sung songs of the Tuath Dé, of Brigid, Aengus, and the Morrígan, and the other deities; of her guiding his hand with the sword- before he was sent to his uncle for warrior training.

No, he couldn’t do this. Lowering his sword arm, he turned swiftly, cut down one of Liadh’s guards, and was gone. Maybe the Morrigan would escort him to the Afterlife before he had to meet Snúcair again.  
She had been there when he expressed his death wish; she would surely grant it, soon, before the setting sun.

“So you, the mighty Caol of the Ren, failed to slay your mother?” Snúcair mused, rubbing his chin. He gazed witheringly upon Caol. “I was right, you are unworthy to be called Vader the Dark’s descendant!”

“It was a moment of weakness!” Caol snarled, gripping his sword hilt till his knuckles whitened. “I don’t know what came over me to spare her!”

“Hmph! You’re a child still.” The older man stood up, his golden cape flowing around him. Its gaudy glitter blinded Caol’s eyes in the late afternoon sun. Or maybe it was the threatening tears. Caol didn’t know. But his rage was slowly building, a deadly cold rage not unlike the winter sea storms at his birthplace Chandrila.

“Pathetic! ” Snúcair was saying scathingly, “ I saw the potential of your bloodline in you, the potential to be more than your grandsire. I was the only one of your mother’s councilors who saw more for you, took you in when your uncle Lúcás tried to slay you. And you repaid me, by being a- “

There was a sound of bone and flesh being pierced and a choking gasp from the older man. While he had been berating Caol, the younger man had stealthily raised his sword ( eying Snúcair’s scarlet cloaked guards the while) and plunged it deeply into him. He pulled it free and stared coldly at the dazed, blood saturated Snúcair.

 _See you in the Afterlife, and may the Morrigan escort us thither to separate places so I won’t have to endure you for eternity!_ Dark satisfaction filled him as he watched Snúcair collapse to the ground and exhale his last breath.

There was a tumult as the guards realized belatedly what had happened to their lord, then they turned with drawn blades against his slayer. Caol stood, ready to fight them, ignoring their obvious advantage in numbers. Then she appeared. The warrior girl.

She was clad in flowing gray and black, her hazel eyes were fiercely bright, her chestnut hair was bound in an intricate 3 bun style, and she bore a bright blade. Caol’s breath stuttered when he saw her. By the Tuath Dé, she was beautiful. Beautiful as the dawn, yet fierce as the storm.

For a moment, they stared intensely into each other’s eyes; it was as if they were the only two people in Ériu. Somehow, Caol had the vague sense they knew each other. The feeling felt so right and good. Then turning swiftly, Caol and his mysterious ally crossed blades with the guards.

Caol groaned and sat up, running his fingers through his long dark waves. He could still feel her at his back as she used him as leverage to land among their foes; he had felt her warm little hand against his thigh as she braced herself for the leap, sending sparks soaring through him even at that moment.

They had fought together, fought in perfect synchronization, fought as one in taking down the scarlet clad guards around Snúcair’s corpse. Then he had been overpowered by a guard he’d thought he’d slain, pinned down with the other man’s blade at his neck. For a moment he’d thought he was dead; he couldn’t break the other’s lockhold on his neck and shoulders.

The warrior girl had shouted, and, with a swift movement, thrown her dagger into the guard’s throat. Caol had reached back, pushing the blade further home. He’d then risen, eager to ask the girl who she was, how’d she come to him so swiftly, express his gratitude, and ( the big question) would she take his hand.

She was gone, vanished as strangely as she’d come.

He clenched his fists. What a fool he was, pining for a girl he couldn’t have. She was gone whence she came, and they’d never meet again. Caol rose from his bed with a sigh. He needed something stronger to drink than water to drown his woes. Maybe there was mead left from the evening meal.

There was a flutter of wings, a harsh caw, and a crow landed on the ground before him. _It’s her. The Morrigan._ He bent his knee out of respect, head bowed.  
He heard a sunny giggle. “Arise, Caol of the Ren. We’ve already met on the field, we’re not strangers to each other.”

Slowly, he looked up, past long slim legs clad in dark robes, a petite form draped in flowing gray chest wraps, slim arms wrapped in soft gray, the massive intricate brooch pinned on her shoulder, to gaze upon her face.

Caol’s breath caught, his heart stuttered, he arose slowly.  
“It is you,” he murmured, awestruck at the vision.  
His mysterious ally and the Morrigan were one and the same. Except for the change in robes and her hair style, which now flowed loosely down her back, she was the same warrior girl.

She smiled and extended her hand towards him. Wonderingly he clasped it, moved slowly towards her, still lost in awe as he was drawn into her. “My lady-“ he murmured.  
“Call me Ré.”  
“Ré.” The rest was lost as he drew her close, devouring her lips in a passionate kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

[](https://ibb.co/xGFzFBB)

Ré’s kiss was equally passionate, if not more so than his; she thrust her pert tongue between his lips and smiled against them when he groaned at the contact. He drew her closer, his hands roaming over every inch of her, inhaling her sweet scent, savoring her soft skin and flowing hair. Her hips thrust into him, sending heat and primal want surging through him.  
“Haven’t we met before?” Caol murmured as he nuzzled down Ré’s soft throat. “I shouldn’t know you, but I do.”

“Not at the Fords, but earlier. When you wished for death after your lord taunted you and tried to wound your spirit.” She was threading her fingers through his hair. “I was still angry at you for slaying your father; when you wished for me to take you, I vowed to answer your wish.”

“Ré, why did you change your mind?” Caol had drawn back, confused. He blushed slightly. Of course, he’d forgotten. The Morrigan could change her mind easily.

Ré was grave. “Because you stayed your hand and didn’t slay your mother; you knew you couldn’t kill her. It tore you apart when you slew your father. I escorted Ifan to the Afterlife following his death; he’d forgiven you for killing him. I was too angry at the time and vowed to wash your garments for the next battle.”

“Better if he had cursed me,” Caol hung his head.  
“No.” Ré raised his head with a delicate yet strong hand. Her warmth flowed across his skin, comforting as a fire on a winter night.

“He loved you very much. He was sorry for not being there for you.” She drew his face for a softly chaste kiss. “Don’t be hateful towards yourself.”

Caol’s large calloused palms grasped Rè’s petite waist, spanning it completely. He kissed her again, softly at first, then plundering, passionate, demanding. She kissed him back with equal passion and fervor. 

Slowly Caol lowered Rè towards the floor, still kissing her passionately. He halted, blushing when his rational brain remained him of his humble bed. “You deserve better than this,” he demurred.

“Nonsense!” She tugged on him, landing on his bed; he landed with an unwarriorlike squeak above her, catching himself with his arms barely. “I don’t care that this isn’t a grand bed at Tara. I want you.” Her fingers curled under his tunic’s lower hem enticingly.

With a swift movement, Caol knelt up, unlaced his tunic and tossed it somewhere behind him. Rè gave a gratified sigh at the sight of his well defined muscles. She seized his hands, bringing them towards her crossover chest wraps.

Caol’s long fingers wasted no time undoing and casting them to the same destination as his tunic. He all but tore her robes off, just as the goddess was eagerly reaching for the lacing on his trousers. 

“Eager for me?” He paused briefly, desire darkening his eyes. By the Tuath Dè, she was radiant in her bare state; Rè glowed upon his blankets. His eyes lingered on her, noting every freckle. He vowed to kiss them all before the sunrise. 

“Yes, yes, come here now.” Rè was already tugging at the high waist of his trousers. “I don’t intend to be the only naked person in this tent tonight.” Her words sent a jolt of desire through him. 

“You won’t be.” With a smirk, he tossed the offensive trousers the way of the tunic and other clothes.

Caol was in complete ecstasy as he kissed his way up and down the goddess’s petite body, devouring her lips, ardently devoting himself to her neck, her perky breasts, her flat belly, and her thighs. She was pure perfection, responding to his every touch and kiss, and her kisses were equally passionate. He had had other women before, but they were nothing to the Morrigan. His Rè. 

At last, he finally positioned himself above her, ready to enter. He paused, gazed down into those eyes of fractured amber and emerald. He had never made love to an immortal before. “Are you sure-“ he began.

She pulled his head down for a fierce kiss, indulging herself in his plushy lips for a moment. Then, “Love me, my princely warrior,” she whispered against his mouth. “Don’t be afraid; the goddess of war and death is also the goddess of love.”

Caol chuckled. “Love and war have so many similarities.” He kissed Rè again, lingering softly against her lips, then raising himself, thrust into her.  
Rè gasped softly at first, so Caol stopped and waited, allowing her time to adjust to him. He caressed her cheek and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. Gods, she was beautiful, he thought. 

Then Rè smiled and wrapped her legs around his waist. “You can move now,” she told him.  
He moved, slowly at first, then he picked up his thrusting pace. Rè gripped his shoulders, legs wrapped around his thighs now, holding him closer.  
“Yes-yes, like this, Caol!” She panted.  
“You’re- so- perfect!” Caol managed between thrusts. 

He thrust harder, deeply, hitting every sensitive spot that drew a high pitched cry of pleasure from her, grinding his hips into her pelvis, covering her lips and neck in hot wet kisses.  
_Mine._ A feeling of possession filled him as he pounded into her. A dangerous thought for a mortal, but he didn’t care. She was his, as he was hers. 

“Caol- I’m-“ she cried out between thrusts.  
“Yes, yes, come for me, my queen!” He redoubled his thrusts into her.

Rè keened loudly; the pleasure was too much.   
She suddenly dug her nails into his back and cried out his name as she came, clenching around him. Caol held her as she rode out her pleasure. He wanted her to come first before he did, even though he fought to control himself. 

Then he felt that familiar tightening feeling. Bracing himself, he came with a shout. Rè felt his warmth fill her as she held him. He was so beautiful above her in the glow of the brazier that regret filled her that he wasn’t one of the Tuath Dè. She dismissed the thought at once. 

Having ridden out his orgasm, Caol collapsed above her, barely stopping himself from landing on her. Instantly Rè drew him down closer to her. “You were so beautiful,” she whispered against his skin.  
“You were too,” he murmured, kissing her lips softly, not with the passion of much earlier. Slowly they rolled on their sides and Caol drew an extra blanket over them. Rè cuddled against him, snuggling her face in the crook of his neck. A desire to tell her his feelings rose with him, but he stifled it. A goddess like the Morrígan surely didn’t want a mortal as a lover. 

“I heard you, Caol of the Ren. Don’t be afraid to tell me how you feel.” She had slightly sat up to gaze at him with those hauntingly lovely hazel eyes.   
He flushed, shy as a child. “Rè, I- I love you. I know I shouldn’t want to, but I do.” He pulled her closer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Caol, I love you too.” She slid her hands up over his pecs to clasp them behind his neck. “I couldn’t help myself after I changed my mind about letting you fall in battle.”  
“Maybe I still deserve to.” His voice was ragged.  
“No, Bearnárd,” she now spoke his true birth name, “you deserve life. A new chance. Hope.”  
“Would my mother even forgive me for slaying my father?” His tone was ragged.   
“She has already; she was sorry for sending you away when you needed her and your father most. Bearnárd, leave the An Chéad Ordú. Go back to her.”

A few moments, then Caol sighed resignedly. “Very well. You may be escorting me home if the Friotaíocht disagree with my return.”


	3. Chapter 3

[](https://ibb.co/xGFzFBB)   


At dawn, Róisín Ni Tico and Fionn were surprised to see Caol of the Ren approaching them as they sat on guard. Instantly, Fionn reached for his sword. 

“Wait! I’ve come in peace.” Caol raised his hands. 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Fionn was skeptical. “You may have come to spy out our location and attack us later. Róisín, shout the alarm.”

“Fionn, wait up! If he was spying, he wouldn’t come so openly.” Róisín stated. Fionn shook his head but lowered his blade. 

Róisín approached Caol. “Why have you come?”  
A pause, then the fierce warrior said, “To see my mother.”

Poe and Liadh were discussing their next move against the An Chéad Ordú when they heard the surge of voices in the main camp. “Something’s happened.” Poe rose to his feet at once. 

“See what’s happening, and report to me.” Liadh said. She sighed as Poe hurried away. The Friotaíocht had been her life for years since the An Chéad Ordú’s rise. She had lost much; her husband and her son, and regrets filled her when she thought of Bearnárd. Her troubled only son. If she had only kept him near. 

Poe came running back with warriors at his side. “Liadh, the best warrior from the An Chéad Ordú- that accursed Caol of the Ren is here! We can’t slay him.”  
“Poe?” Liadh raised a brow.  
“It’s true! There’s a woman with him now- she suddenly came- she’s driven off our warriors. They can’t touch him without being slain.”  
A smile crossed Liadh’s face, before she spoke, firmly. “Call them off. Caol has the favor of the Morrígan.”  
Poe gaped, but ran to do her bidding. 

Caol strode past the gawking warriors and Poe, with Rè by his side. Her brightness and her stern appearance served to halt anyone with homicidal thoughts. Murmurs of awe- and some of anger- broke the silence around them. 

Liadh had never looked so regal, Caol thought with some trepidation. Did she really forgive him for his fall and the killing of Ifan? He approached her slowly, then kneeling before her, held out his sword.  
“Li- Mother, I’ve come back.” He swallowed hard, then continued. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I know I don’t deserve any forgiveness, I know I deserve death.” His lips trembled. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

He’d probably apologized for nothing, he thought as he blinked back the cowardly tears. No sense showing them in front of the world. He felt Rè’s comforting aura surround him. The Morrígan had forgiven him, but did his own mother? 

Liadh stood up, and coming forward, hugged her son close, caressing his silky hair. “Bearnárd,” she said softly,only for him, “welcome back. I never should have sent you away. It was a grave mistake.” She placed a kiss on his head. “Stand up, my son. I forgave you long ago, even before you spared my life in that battle yesterday.” 

Caol stood up, hope shining in his eyes, and turned to Rè at his side. She smiled up at him, before she turned to Liadh. “For this, I shall always favor the Friotaíocht. It shall always win its battles against the An Chéad Ordù from today onwards.”

Turning to Caol, she drew his head down, kissing him in front of everyone. Caol drew her in tightly as he kissed her with equal fervor. “Thank you,” he murmured against her mouth.  
“I shall be with you always,” Rè murmured back.

**Author's Note:**

> Sources: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Morr%C3%ADgan  
> https://mythopedia.com/celtic-mythology/gods/morrigan/ https://mythology.net/others/gods/the-morrigan/  
> https://mythicalireland.com/myths-and-legends/the-morrigan/


End file.
